


The Different Speeds of One Bart Allen

by sarcastic_fina



Series: The Multiships of One Chloe Sullivan [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-04
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: Multiple oneshots/drabbles of Chloe/Bart.





	1. The Different Speeds of One Bart Allen (T)

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that this story was originally written in **2008** and my writing style and ability has changed and grown. This story is being moved over here from Livejournal because I'm closing my LJ account soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of their relationship, Chloe had learned there are different speeds to Bart Allen...

Over the course of their relationship, Chloe has learned there are different speeds to Bart Allen. There's his usual, where he's ready to run, can't wait to start speeding across the country, gone so quick you can't blink without losing sight of him. That, she's used to. That is the Bart most are used to. But then he had his downtime, where all he does is lay there and veg out, trying to get back his energy before he gets up and is back on high again, racing every which way.

But of them all, her favorite speed is in between the two, where he's slow and fast at the same. She's fairly certain nobody else knows this speed though, seeing as he only gets like this when they're alone. When the doors are closed and the guys are gone and he's spouting cheesy lines until she's undressed and then he's speechless and instead of running his mouth off and making her smile at his absurd new pick up line, he's using it to kiss her skin and make her whimper.

In these moments, he's both fast and slow; he lingers, but he's quickly at the next part of her, lavishing it just as thoroughly. She loves this speed; has never felt it with anyone before him. She'll never understand how he can put so much emphasis on these little tasks just as much as he can when he's finally inside her and then he creates a whole new kind of speed, one she can't even gage it because she's too consumed with pleasure. Maybe it's fast and maybe it's slow, all she knows is that the waves of ecstasy come in multiples, over and over and over again until she's pleading with him to finish already because she can't take anymore; she can barely breathe as it is. And then he's there, making her fly one last time before she's wrapped up in his arms, her heart racing while his is still the same.

And he's ready to go again within minutes but she's not sure she can keep up, so she forces him to cuddle, enjoys the way he holds her, no longer restless, his legs tangled with hers, no hyper-active desire to run away and race across the globe. He's content then, comfortable when he's with her enough that he doesn't think of anything but holding her a little longer. This is the best of everything; this is what makes her wonder why she took so long to realize that he was always right there in front of her, waiting to show her just how loved she could be. She's learned though, it took her a little longer. Not everyone was as quick as him. But she caught on and now she's just as in love with him as he is with her and she knows that they've got a whole lifetime for her to enjoy all the different speeds of one Bart Allen. She wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. The Different Speeds of One Bart Allen (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe returns home to find Bart has a surprise evening planned for them.

 

When Chloe returned from a long day at ISIS, she wasn't sure what to expect when she got home. But a sleeping Bart Allen sprawled across her couch, shirtless and cradling their son on his bare chest wasn't it. Suddenly all the stress of the day evaporated. Just like his dad, Christopher was intensely active but it caught up to him and after a good long feast on baby food and milk, he took a nap. Obviously, Bart had the same idea as he laid snoring away, his hand sitting lightly overtop his son who wore only a diaper and his favorite red pants.

Closing the door behind her lightly, she shed her jacket and shoes, dropped her purse on the end table and walked closer to get a better look. Five years ago if somebody had told her that she'd finally give in to the flirtatious Impulse, she would've laughed. If they'd told her she'd be engaged to him, have a son by him, and find herself entirely in love with the always charming speedster she'd have been, for once in her life, speechless.

But here she was, kneeling next to the couch where her fiancé and their son lay sleeping. Bart's hair was mussed up, a shaggy blond-streaked brown that fell all over and flipped at odd angles, looking windswept. Just like his dad, Christopher's hair was a messy brown that lay around his head in small curls. Seemingly at the same time, the two Allen men gave a tiny sigh in their sleep and she found appreciative tears come unbidden to her eyes which she blinked away hastily.

Reaching out with a curled forefinger, she lightly rubbed her little boy's flushed cheek. His lips smacked together but other than that he didn't wake. She traced his tiny brown eyebrows with the pad of her finger and then ran it down the little stub of his nose. He was beautiful; she may be biased, but she was entirely sure that her son was absolutely gorgeous. His fingers curled lightly against his dad's chest, short blunt nails scraping against Bart.

Her eyes rose to stare at the man who gave her such a wonderful child and she found herself smiling. A hand reached out, tangling in his hair and stroking back and forth absently. He wasn't as classically handsome as say Clark Kent, but there was something undeniably good looking about him. It was his smile that always did it for her, automatically had her lips curving to return the same sentiment. So sincere and large and absolutely, entirely for her. He wasn't as broad and muscular as the other Justice League brothers, but he had a lean, toned body that she found far more attractive as it fit against her just right.

"You gonna spend the rest of the day gazin' at me, beautiful?" she heard him mutter tiredly as one of his grey-green eyes opened to look up at her.

"I might just," she replied easily, she let her fingers trail down the side of his face. "Why? Did you have something else planned for your evening?"

He grinned, turning his head to kiss her palm before he replied. "That depends... If I tell you I got a babysitter for tonight, that I bought chocolate sauce and am entirely juiced up and ready for a full night of all Chloelicious, what would you say?"

Her mouth widened. "I'd say you better be able to hold up your end of the bargain, Allen." She winked.

"They don't call me Impulse for nothing, babe," he said, sitting up slowly, cradling Christopher carefully.

Sometimes, it still surprised her how gentle he could be. He'd always been so fidgety, his need for speed constantly at his heels, bidding him to move and run and experience the exhilaration of being everywhere with nobody to see he'd ever been there, escaping sight itself. But when he had Christopher, he slowed down. He held him like he was the most precious being on the Earth and he gazed at him just the same.

With a yawn, Christopher blinked his grey-green eyes and wiggled against his dad, his face scrunching up as he became more and more awake.

Chloe's hand found his back and the impending cry she could see on his face ceased. He turned his head and looked up at her, familiarity crossing his features and then he was reaching for her with his little hands and she took him from Bart to hold him close to her. He was wide awake now; nap wearing off quickly and his energy back full force. He bounced in her arms and garbled nonsense as he reached for her hair, tugging on it and touching her face with his hands. He was certainly Bart's son; that was obvious. She could imagine a young Bart was just like Christopher, ready to move and talk and experience everything far before his time.

Stretching his arms above his head and falling back toward the couch, his lean body flexing as her eyes stared on appreciatively, Bart mumbled something about food and she stood up, holding Christopher to her with one arm. "When's the babysitter going to be here?"

He glanced at the clock and ran a hand through his hair before hopping off the couch, his jeans slung low on his waist. "Any minute now," he said happily.

A knock at the door later and she turned to lift surprised brows as Lois came inside with Clark behind her, arms full of baby stuff.

"Where's my favorite man?" Lois exclaimed in greeting.

Playfully, Bart opened his arms to her. "I missed you too, cousin-in-law."

She rolled her eyes, scoffing as she bumped his shoulder and walked right past him to hurry over to Chloe, running her fingers through Christopher's hair. "There you are," she said, grinning. "I'd have been here sooner, little man, but your geeky uncle Clark couldn't get his butt in gear already."

"Hey! Quit telling him things like that or he's gonna grow up thinking I'm lame." Clark frowned at her.

"Whatever Smallville," Lois said before hauling Christopher up into her arms, leaving Chloe to go about finding something for Bart to snack on before his chocolate dessert. He'd need all the energy he could get. They hadn't had a babysitter in a month and she felt like she'd been working non-stop. Bart had League business and when he didn't, he was on Christopher duty, which he loved, but every once in awhile, they needed some alone time.

"Geez, shorty, ever heard of a shirt?"

"And hide this beautiful sight from you, Lois, I wouldn't dream of it," Bart volleyed back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're a regular Adonis."

"Please, don't drool in front of my fiancée, it gives her a complex."

Chloe snorted, tossing him an apple before she pulled out lunchmeat, lettuce, tomato and a few condiments, enough to make a few sandwiches. Catching it easily, Bart bit into it without pause. "So what're you doin' with my fantastically awesome son tonight?" he asked through a mouthful of apple.

Lois bounced a happy Christopher on her hip. "Mrs. Kent's been dying to see him, so we're going over there in hopes of a free homemade meal where I hopefully won't have to change diapers for at least a few hours yet. Then..." She shrugged. "I dunno. Ask the baby expert over there." She nodded toward Clark who was still holding various boxes.

He blushed. "It's just a few things. We're not exactly equipped for a baby at the apartment or the farm, so..."

"A few things?" Bart lifted a brow. "Dude, you look like you're ready for my boy to move in." He looked back and forth from Clark to Lois. "You guys aren't having your own yet, are you?"

Lois sputtered while Clark flushed even further.

"Stop teasing them," Chloe said, chuckling. "They've just gotten over their denial of how hot they are for each other. Last I checked, Lois was scared Clark might die of shock if he got up her shirt."

"Hey! Girl code, Chlo! You're not supposed to talk hoe in front of the bros," she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Bart laughed, head falling back. "What?" he asked, trying to make sense of what she just said.

Lois shrugged. "Hoes over bros."

"Isn't calling yourselves hoes a little-"

"Shut it, Smallville."

With a sigh, he obeyed.

"You're so whipped," Bart told him, grinning.

Clark glowered at him.

"Come get this sandwich, Bart. It's in the way of the other three," Chloe called to him.

Quick as a flash, Bart was gone and then there again, a large bite already taken out of the massive sandwich in hand. "He's already had a nap, so don't even trying putting him down for awhile," Bart warned, motioning to Christopher. "And he doesn't like mashed peas. All you'll get is a whole lot of tears and green vomit." He shrugged. "Not a fan of peas myself." He licked his lips before there was a red flash and then he stood in front of Lois with a blue bag filled with everything. "I packed some milk for him already and that should have everything. He won't sleep unless he's in his red pants."

Lois rolled her eyes. "I know, already. You told me this on the phone earlier."

"Well I didn't tell Clark," he said, lifting a shoulder.

"Then why are you talking directly _to me_?"

"Because you have a short memory and obviously Clark's packed to the nines on how to keep my kid safe. All you've done is insult your boyfriend and hit on me since you got here."

"I was not-" She cut herself off. "I'm not doing this with you, Allen. Every single time..." She shook her head. "One of these days, when Chloe's not looking, you and me are gonna have a serious man to woman talk."

"Does it involve you using hot army lingo?" he teased, lifting a brow.

She thinned her eyes and grit her teeth. "Why do I put up with you?"

"Your cousin loves me, you love your cousin..." He motioned with his hands to show her the balance there.

With a sigh, she looked at Chloe over her shoulder. "Right, so why do _you_ put up with him."

Copying Bart's measuring movements, she grinned. "I love him, he loves me, we both love Christopher."

Lois shook her head. "Copulating, it blinds people."

Clark cleared his throat uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Lois crossed the apartment. "Okay, say your goodbyes to the poop machine, I've gotta get this one home and you two can start making more of these handsome little guys that obviously take after the Lane genes."

With a scoff, Bart sped over and picked his son up from Lois' arms holding him above his head and grinning up at him. With a giggle, Christopher wiggled back and forth, kicking his legs out as if he was trying to run mid-air. "That's my boy," he said, laughing. "Be good and convince Gramma K to give you some of her cookies," he advised.

With a soft chuckle, Chloe sidled up next to him and reached for Christopher, bringing him down so she could kiss the crown of his head. One of his small hands tangled in her hair and he rested his head on her shoulder as if he was content not to move anymore so long as she held him. Just like his dad. She rubbed his back and patted his bum, humming lightly under her breath. "I want him back bright and early tomorrow morning," she told them sternly.

Lois saluted her, grinning.

"Not too early," Bart disagreed. "Like noon. Or four."

Chloe rolled her eyes, bumping his hip with hers. Finally, with a sigh, she drew back and handed him over to Lois once more. Immediately, his legs started moving and his mouth was making odd vrooming noises as he grinned happily up at all the people around him.

"Have a nice night," Clark said. "See you guys tomorrow."

"Say hi to Mrs. Kent for me," Chloe told him, smiling.

"I can only handle one of these at a time," Lois warned, motioning to their son. "So wrap it up or find a new babysitter."

"Lo-is!" Clark exclaimed.

Laughing, Chloe nodded before she closed the door behind them.

Before she could move back toward the kitchen to finish making the sandwiches, Bart's arms were around her waist and she found herself lifted up and plastered to him. She grinned, staring into his eyes. "What happened to your hunger?" she asked, tone light.

He smirked. "Oh I'm stilly hungry." His hands cupped her bottom and before her eyes could take in what had happened, she was sprawled beneath him on their bed. "Just for something else." His fingers reached for the buttons of her blouse and began languidly popping them out of place.

Leaning back, she watched as the plum colored fabric of her shirt parted and pooled on either side of her against the bed. His mouth trailed from her navel up, smooth lips warm against her skin. He kissed along her stomach, over her ribs, between her breasts, and up her chest before he buried his face against her neck and suckled her shoulder pleasantly. She could feel his teeth and tongue working at her skin, creating his own mark for him to be proud of. She'd be littered with them by tomorrow. Her head fell to one side as his hand buried in her hair and his mouth feasted on her neck. She moaned, eyes fluttering shut and teeth digging into her lip.

It'd been too long since it'd just been them. She loved her son to no end, but she couldn't remember the last time she wasn't waiting for his cry for attention to break the solitude and separate them. She'd relish every second of having him back tomorrow, but for right now, she was going to trust that her cousin and best friend could handle her energetic son for the night and instead put all of her attention on the other Allen man she held close to her heart.

When his lips finally met hers, she let out a gasp of contentment, her lips parting to let him in and her tongue reaching for his. His arms were sprawled above her head, her hands gripping the bars of the headboard, where he usually held tight as he thrust inside of her, keeping him grounded so he didn't send them flying off the bed. She felt his fingers slide up her forearm, spreading out and teasing her skin. His thumbs brushed either pulse point across her wrist before her hold loosened and she let go of the metal bars. He took her hands in his, fingers threading and drew them down to lay against the pillow as their mouths parted, panting.

He nibbled her lower lip, eyes staring into hers, already glazing and darkening with passion. Who knew there was such a deep and intense man beneath the outwardly mischievous and flirty boy so many knew him as? Her knees lifted, cradling him between her thighs. She could feel her skirt ride up higher as he ground himself against her, the denim of his jeans and the bulge he sported pressing against her through her panties, drawing a throaty moan from her lips.

His nose brushed against hers as he slanted his mouth across hers in small, lingering kisses. She arched up, relishing the warmth of his bare upper torso pressing against her own, nothing but the lace of her bra covering her top. He stared at her from beneath long dark lashes, his eyes deeper and more thoughtful than she was sure people ever thought to connect with him. Even if everything he said came out teasing, one look into her eyes and she never doubted that he loved her.

"We've got three weeks left of non-married status, gorgeous," he reminded, kissing down her chin and nuzzling her with his nose. "We should stock up on awesome us time before we're hitched."

She chuckled. "What? You think having a ring on your finger's going to slow you down?"

He grinned. "Nothing can slow me down."

With a twist of her hips and a maneuver she learned from him, she had him on his back, laid out beneath her. "I know a weakness or two that'll knock you off your feet, Allen."

"Care to demonstrate?" he replied, rocking his hips against hers.

Licking her lips, she bent down toward him, pressing their foreheads together. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Our pleasure, _amor_." He captured her lips in a breathtaking kiss, a promise that she'd be very much satisfied and entirely exhausted by the end of the night. Kissing him back with just as much fervor, she returned the promise. They had to make the best of the time they had and knowing Clark and Lois, they'd bicker over how to take care of Christopher and he'd be back early tomorrow so his babysitter's could get an opinion on who was right.

Chloe Sullivan, soon to be Allen, was ready for one long and mutually satisfying evening with her fiancé; he never disappointed.


	3. When Right Began (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was her ever patient, stubborn suitor, and she might just be giving in. Finally.

 

The breeze that flipped her hair upward and tickled her neck warned her of his arrival. As he leaned against her desk, one elbow propping him up, he angled his head sideways and gave her a smile that was all charm and hope. "Looking beautiful, as usual, Chloelicious."

She grinned, unable to help herself. "I try," she replied easily before fingering through the tall stack of papers in front of her.

His fingers were tucking stray blonde bangs behind her ear before she could even blink. "I think it's all natural for you."

She snorted indelicately. "You should see my bathroom then. Because beauty products don't come cheap and I spend too many of my checks on them."

His smile didn't dim, nor did he direct it elsewhere. "You get flustered when I compliment you..."

She flicked her eyes toward him and then away. "I'm only being honest, Impulse. You have me on a pedestal I don't deserve." She turned to walk away, sure that the conversation would end, but he was in front of her in a flash of ease. She came to a sudden stop, not so much surprised as slightly perturbed. "Are we going to have one of those talks about personal space again?" she asked, lifting a brow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back on the heels of his red converse and then shrugged, bringing his shoulders up near his ears, where a grin was spread from one to the other. "You wouldn't mind so much if you just gave me a chance..."

She pressed a hand to his cheek, going for comfort rather than intimacy. But when he leaned his head into her open palm she felt a warmth fill her, clog her throat and make her heart tremor in a way she never expected from a boy like Bart Allen.

But then... he wasn't a _boy_ anymore, was he? He'd grown up a lot since playing Impulse for the League and while he still had that comedic character she enjoyed so much, he was older, both in looks and mentality. He wasn't so scrawny, but he wasn't built like the others with muscle overlapping muscle and a brawniness to them that left them looking like Greek gods. His body was more subtle, with a lean toned physique hidden beneath a boyish sense of style.

She may have looked, even admired some, but that didn't change the situation any. Bart had had a crush on her for longer than she could remember, but the boundaries were still there and she made sure nothing went past harmless flirting, despite his hints that more could happen, would happen, if she'd just let it.

"Impulse... Bart... I..." She shrugged, lifting her hands helplessly. "Why does it have to be any more than it is?"

He licked his lips, eyes turning away for just a fraction of a moment and then his face sobered, matured, and he looked more serious than she'd ever seen him before. "Because..." He was caressing her face quicker than she could take in, his fingers warm and delicate against her cheek, his forefinger stroking down the bridge of her nose affectionately, in a way that had a shiver sliding down her back. "We deserve a happy ending too, don't we? I may not be the average Prince Charming, but I'm yours whether you want me or not..."

She swallowed tightly, surprised by the emotion that welled up there.

Two years. Two years since Jimmy and Davis and everything with Clark. Two years since she got her life on track, the way she liked it, as Watchtower for the JL, where she felt right and comfortable and fit like a lost glove finding its proper hand. Surrounded by heroes, both in and out of costume, she never found a place that felt better. Her romantic life, however, was just as tumultuous as ever. With Clark and Lois finally dating and Oliver sniffing around Dinah, she found most of her time was either spent in her laptops silent company, batting off the psychos she seemed to lure in unknowingly, or Bart's always interesting and unexpected arrivals kept her on her toes.

He was lively and fun and despite how young he might come off, he had a sense of maturity to him that endeared her to him in ways she'd never expected. It came out most on the job; he didn't always just shrug off the bad and go on with life. He made a difference and it hurt when that didn't work out as planned. Defeat clouded his eyes some days and she knew, deep down, he wasn't sure he could handle the sorrow. But every day he donned the red and he got right back up to keep fighting. Just like how he was with her; no matter how many times she laughed it off, ignored his advances, he always came back to try again.

Her ever patient stubborn suitor.

"One date... Mexican, Thai, whatever you want... Maybe a movie if dinner goes well..." he suggested, his smile returning with its former warmth and sweet hope.

She chewed her lip, considered, really, for the first time. What was the harm? If anything, he might realize they weren't suited and if not... If not, then what? Then a second date? Maybe a third? Bart Allen and Chloe Sullivan, going steady?

"I'll pick you up at 7," he suddenly interrupted her thoughts, taking a slow step back, his feet jittery to get going.

She pursed her lips, partly out of amusement and partly because he'd just answered _for_ her. "I didn't say yes."

He simply grinned, letting out a light chuckle. "Well, you didn't say no either."

She sighed, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes, still smiling. "Whether you decided or not, your eyes said yes."

Her brow wrinkled. "My eyes?"

He nodded, shrugging. "Can't argue with the window to your soul, _mamacita_."

She laughed, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you, Impulse?"

"With a little convincing, spend a long and happy lifetime with me." He grinned, winking, and then he was gone before she could snark back.

She found a smile curving her lips, wistful and not quite as resigned as she meant. It was just one date, she reminded herself. Any maybe afterwards, the pedestal would fade. Maybe then he wouldn't worship her, not after her knew her better, in a more intimate manner. So why did she feel a tug at her heart at the idea? Was it possible she liked being his one true affection? Was she actually _worried_ that this one little date might change his view, might turn his heart away? And what would she be without Bart and his endless infatuation? Just single Chloe Sullivan again, no suitors, which was what she needed, wasn't it? So much of her life was chaos and problem solving, shouldn't her social life be less dramatic?

And what would Bart _do_ for her social life?

What would a date entail with Bart Allen as the man she was out with? She couldn't imagine roses or wine, in fact she thought of wild flowers he picked up while running through a field in a far away country. Instead of wine there would be champagne that he enthusiastically popped open and then drank from the bottle, passing it to her as they sat on a mountain top nobody but he could get up with just his two feet and ambition. And they'd sit under the stars; he'd race back for a blanket when she shivered, back in seconds and happy to oblige. He'd sneak his arm around her, much less slyly than he'd think and she'd let him, because she'd fit there, comfortably.

And why, _why_ , was it so easy to imagine that?

She spent an hour in her closet, debating, tossing, looking again, shaking her head, considering a headache or finding some other useless excuse that would wipe his smile from his face and leave him with a resigned but undefeated nod of his head. And he'd mope a few days, might even stop visiting for awhile, but he'd be back and he'd try again and maybe she'd say yes, maybe she'd say no, but she knew the game would go on. The problem was, did she want it to? Or did she want it to end now and find out for sure? Just what were they, Chloe and Bart? Watchtower and Impulse? Two lovers bound to come together, as Bart obviously thought. Or merely friends, one of which who would soon realize that was all they were meant for?

She chose the red dress, it was a little frilly at the bottom and cinched at the waist and it flattered her in ways that left her blushing slightly as she reexamined herself in the mirror. Too much? Too little? Maybe she should just wear jeans and a t-shirt. Bart was casual; he was comfortable and goofy and he probably wasn't expecting her to be decked out. And was she giving the wrong signal? Ugh! What was she doing? Why was she flustered? This was just _Bart_. Sweet, friendly, funny, Bart. _Impulse._ Her friend, her team mater, her... Her confidante and her pick-me-up and her always smiling, always endearing... _what_? What word best described him? Because there were moments where he was more than a friend but less than a lover and then others times where he felt closer to her then anybody else. When he touched her cheek that day, when he stroked her face like it was the most delicate of art...

There was a knock at the door, one that surprised her and had her guard motivated as most of the people she knew would simply breeze in. She was armed and sneaking toward the door on silent tip toes. She flicked the lock, opened the door, peeked through carefully and then let her gun arm fall to her hip. She sighed, slightly frustrated. "You _knocked_..." she exclaimed, both baffled and annoyed.

He simply grinned. "I'm early and somehow barging into my date's apartment seems rude..." He glanced at the gun, smirked, "And apparently dangerous."

She felt her cheeks heat but turned (hopefully) before he could see it. She replaced her magnum in a safe and easily accessible place and then slipped the thin strap of her purse over her shoulder. "It's not even six thirty, you know..." Her lips quirked.

Bart shrugged his shoulder, wiped one of his hands on his jeans and replied honestly, "I was anxious." Suddenly, he thrust an arm out and wild flowers were breathed in deeply from just beneath her nose. "They're not roses but-"

She grinned widely, her breath catching in her throat and suddenly her frayed nerves loosened. "Mexican," she interrupted.

"Huh?"

Taking the flowers, she walked toward her kitchen to get them a vase of water. "For dinner, we should have Mexican. And you can spout of all of your cheesy Spanish pick up lines."

"Classic, not cheesy," he called out good naturedly as she returned with the flowers to put on the table.

She simply smiled before stepping into the hallway where he waited with impatient feet. She closed and locked the door slowly, mostly because she enjoyed teasing him about his need to always be moving.

"Are we walking?" she wondered, dropping her keys inside her purse.

"I know a restaurant a few streets over or a better one that might take awhile on feet, it's up to you."

Hooking her arm in his, she nodded. "Then let's see just how fast those feet of yours are, cowboy."

He grinned slowly before wrapping his free arm around her and drawing her up against his side, tight. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice deep, intoxicating, sending her stomach in a fluttering frenzy.

He pressed a soft kiss to the end of her nose, his lips soft and light as a breeze. "Did I tell you how breathtaking you look?" Before she could even react, they were moving, so fast everything else became one colorful blur. She felt giddy, warm, _right_.

Maybe it was seconds, hours, but she felt like she was in Bart's arms for a lifetime spent in just a flash and she realized that she liked it. He was strong, steady, and he held on to her in a way that made her feel treasured. Maybe she hadn't paid attention before, maybe she'd ignored it, but whatever this was she had with him, whatever he was offering and she was finally beginning to take, it could be amazing.

She hadn't even sat down at the table for dinner when she knew something had shifted, changed, evolved, for the better. And she liked it, welcomed it, and couldn't wait for it to really start.

"Ready for this, 'licious?" he asked, rubbing his hands together as the menu was dropped in front of each of them.

With a soft smile, she gazed at him warmly. "Yeah... I think I finally am."

He looked up at her, understanding in his blue eyes and then he nodded, content she'd finally come around. Taking her hand in his, he examined his menu, and they simply _began_.


	4. All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She expected to be kiss; anticipated it even... [Sequel to 'When Right Began']

She expected to be kissed; anticipated it even. But for the first three dates, there was nothing. On the fourth, he kissed her knuckles lingeringly, his eyes staring into hers so deeply she actually sighed. The fifth date, his lips pressed against her cheek, his warm breath lingering even after he sped away, leaving her leaning against her apartment door, waiting, wanting.

After days, weeks, _years_ spent wanting this, he wouldn't take that last step to make it truly official. If he didn't kiss her soon, she was going to get a complex. He _wanted_ this, didn't he? After all his hard work, all the time they spent together, laughing, touching, truly getting closer... He _felt_ it, didn't he? Fear tightened her throat. What if after all this, she fell and he didn't? What if after all he went through, he realized his mistake just as she was changing her mind? Panic, worry, desire and hope swirled inside of her until she was a mess with no idea what to do or how to fix it. She wasn't like this; she wasn't used to doubt or uncertainty. She was a strong, independent woman who had long passed the crushing on the guy who didn't want her faze... Wasn't she?

Their sixth date was at a carnival. It was loud and bright and it made the worried haze dull as she was swept up in the rides and the cotton candy and how warm his hand felt wrapped around hers. She knew he was getting a fair bit of ribbing from the team but all he did was shrug, smile and wink at her each time they brought it up. He didn't back down, he didn't utter those dreadful four words, "We need to talk," and he didn't once make her truly feel like he had changed his mind. When she was with him, everything else seemed to fade. It was just him with that affectionate grin and his fingers tucking her hair behind her ears before he ran circles around her excitedly or swept her up in his arms and made cheesy proclamations about anything and everything, leaving her laughing and floating on her own little cloud nine.

Suddenly, he lifted their arms and twirled her beneath them; she had an odd affection for how random he could be. "Hotdogs and then the House of Mirrors? What d'ya think?"

"I think you stomach is an endless pit," she replied, smiling.

Grinning, he kissed her cheek. "Have to keep my strength up, 'licious."

"And what would that be for? Last I checked, mirrors weren't the most strenuous of activities..."

He wiggled his eyebrows, walking backwards toward the food stand. "Depends where you put 'em."

Her mouth fell open and she shook her head as he laughed, turning back toward the hot dog vendor.

It was entirely his fault that her head filled with visions of them in a bed with a ridiculous mirror pinned just above. She cleared her throat and tried to will the image away before it became too vivid. Hadn't even properly kissed and she was getting ahead of them already...

Four hot dogs and two cokes later, he was dragging her toward the House of Mirrors while she dug around for a napkin hoping to slow him down long enough to wipe the mustard staining his upper lip away, not that he cared any. He stuffed tickets into the hand of an old, uninterested worker and then pulled her inside the creaking and overdramatic house. She could hear girls squealing and boys laughing in the distance while she and Bart walked hand in hand through the maze of reflective glass. She'd seen far worse in reality than a distorted her. Still, it felt like she was young and innocent and the rest of the world was outside, away from them for just a moment.

They stepped into a wide circle, the doorway they stepped through slamming behind them as a window replaced it; trapped, or at least seemingly so. She could see the crack of light where the exit door was but she walked around anyway, wanting the full effect. As she moved, he stood in the center, his eyes trailing after her, neck craning.

She pointed a thumb to one of the mirrors that showed her nearly squashed to the floor in a compact mess. "And I didn't think I could get any shorter..." she joked lightly.

He smiled, reaching a hand out for her. She took it, letting him tug her in close. Her heartbeat sped up as they stood chest to chest and for a second, she worried it'd jump right out of her and into him without missing a beat. She could feel his breath on her cheek, warm, caressing. His forehead touched hers and a shiver escaped down her back, leaving her skin tingling and her breath shaking.

She waited, wanted, but his lips never swept forward, didn't even inch closer. Seconds passed and then a minute and she felt resignation swell up inside. He wouldn't do it; wouldn't kiss her. Anger flared; what if he did realize his mistake with her but wasn't sure he could admit it to her? What if he was hoping she'd end it first? What ifs by the thousands ran through her head, driving her crazy. She hated that feeling; useless and unsure of herself or him or _them_. She knew, she understood what they are and what they could be. She hadn't known then but she got it now. And she wasn't going to let him decide without first knowing what he'd be missing if he walked away.

She took the initiative.

She tipped her head, breaking the contact of their foreheads. She caught his eyes, held on and then pressed her lips to his firmly. Warm, tingling, and then... Then she was breathless, her knees shook, and she was parting her lips before she was dragging in a deep breath and kissing him again. Her tongue reached, swept over his lower lip and then slid inside, touched his, urged him to take, to want, to receive. Her hand lifted, cradled his neck, fingers flaring in his hair, tightening, holding. Her mouth fit against his like a puzzle piece meeting its partner; their noses brushed lightly before she was leaning into him, taking his strength to keep herself up as she drank it in.

It was like lightening striking, energizing her mouth into taking action, taking all of him. When he kissed back, she felt herself quake; struck again, a bolt of intimate passion. Desire raced from her lips to her fingertips to her breasts and down to her toes; she felt it, him, everywhere. Her arm slid around his waist, hand clutching his shirt tightly, desperately, as if afraid that if she let go she'd fall and not get up.

For all of his time holding back, he wasn't now. His mouth took hold of hers possessively, lips warm, soft, and rough all the same; plunging, marking, bruising in their intensity. She met him head on, felt a mirror cold against her back as he nearly slammed her against it. She cried out against his mouth, not in pain but in surprise and sucked in another gust of air. His fingers slid into her hair, massaged her scalp, her neck, tightened and tugged, drawing her closer, deeper.

His body was tight against her, every inch seeming to become part of her. One of his hands fell from her hair, clasped around her wrist; his thumb flicked across her racing pulse before he slid his fingers down her forearm, the sensation tickled her, made her body jolt against him. She gasped into his mouth and his tongue swept forward, taking possession of her own, dancing together.

There was a keening nose in the background, so quiet she nearly didn't hear it over the rushing in her ears, and then the mirror gave a little behind her and she paused, her mouth, her hands, her everything.

Panting, he drew back slightly, his eyes opening, glazed but staring back at her. "What?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I think we broke the mirror," she murmured, licking her lips.

His brow furrowed. "Huh?"

She looked around with emphasis before leaning into him and away from the mirror she'd been pressed up against. Looking over her shoulder she saw a jagged crack running down the center and couldn't help a slight smile.

Shaking his head, Bart tugged her forward and brushed at the back of her shirt and pants, making sure no loose glass had clung to her. "You okay?" he wondered, clearing his throat to get it back to its usual warm tone.

"Yeah. Fine. Just..." She stared up at him, her eyes searching his. "Who knew you had it in you, Allen?"

He grinned rather smugly, but there was a faint pink stain to his cheeks that reminded her this was their first kiss and he'd been trying to convince her of 'them' for a long, long time. "You would've known sooner, but..."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You would have to if you'd made a move. _Six_ dates, Bart. I'm disappointed."

He glanced down and then caught her eyes again, genuine affection reigning there. He tucked her hair behind her ear like he so often did, thumb lingering against her cheek. "Had to make sure, 'licious."

Her eyes narrowed. "Was this... a _test_?"

He winced slightly. "If I kissed you it just meant I did what I've wanted to for awhile, but... If you kissed me..."

"You'd know it was for real," she finish, nodding slowly. "You still weren't sure if I was all in." It wasn't a question but a statement.

He smiled rather sadly. "You're a hard woman to read sometimes."

She covered his hand with hers. "I think I was pretty clear a minute ago."

He grinned widely before saluting her goofily. "Read you loud and clear," he said, winking.

Rolling her eyes, she threaded their fingers and turned toward the exit. "Come on, let's get out of here before somebody wants us to pay the damages."

Grinning, Bart looked back. "We could just take it and buy them a new one... For nostalgic purposes..."

She sent him a sidelong look and shook her head. "If you think you're hanging that over your bed, you've got another thing coming!"

Laughing, he slung an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her hair.

Unable to stop herself from smiling, she slid her arm around his waist and sighed contently. If ever she had a doubt, kissing him erased every last bit of it. And she was more than happy with that outcome.  



	5. Don’t Say You Understand (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little hard to be her Knight in shining armor when exhaustion takes its toll… [Third Part to the Previous Two]

He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, rarely spoke and the stench of constant movement and despair had caught up with him after four days of ignoring the call of the shower. His foot bounced anxiously while his finger flicked and flexed against his cheek. He shouldn’t be sitting still, shouldn’t be waiting here for word; he could travel the entire world in what seemed like only seconds, he should be looking for her, finding her, holding her. But he’d tried that, over and over for four days straight and he couldn’t find her anywhere.

He could still feel the panic from that first moment he knew something was wrong. She was up and out of bed before him, no big deal, she was a start-the-day and get-to-it type, but he hadn’t seen her since she’d pecked his cheek and left a mug of coffee on the bedside table for him. No calls, no emails, not even a passed on ‘Hey’ through Clark. She’d never made it to ISIS, hadn’t checked in with Ollie, wasn’t in contact with Lois or Clark and more than all that, she hadn’t met up with him.

He waited two and a half hours for her to meet him at their usual spot, thinking maybe she just got caught up in something, hoping that was all it was. Sometimes, she got her head so buried into things she forgot to pull it out. He was ready to laugh it off, kiss her and just get on with the night, but she didn’t show. And he finally gave in and went to Ollie, explained that something was seriously wrong and immediately, he saw that look in Ollie’s eyes. That ‘I know something’s wrong, have for awhile, but it was for everybody’s benefit that I didn’t say anything’ look. He withheld hitting him; he wasn’t usually one for physical violence, most things could be laughed off if it wasn’t Luthor-related. But he had to curl his fingers into fists and force them to hang against his sides. He listened to Ollie’s reasons, his excuses, all the ways it made sense that Chloe do what she did, but he couldn’t agree, he couldn’t nod his head and just help solve the latest problem.

He felt his chest ache, his fingers bounce with the need to move, to run, to search and find and use all of his will and strength and speed to get to her as quickly as possible and get her away from whatever was happening to her now. But even the quickest man alive was useless without a destination.

“Bart, try to understand…”

“Yeah, I get it…” he choked out, his jaw twitching angrily. “She was expendable.”

“Impulse!” Oliver chastised darkly. “Chloe is and will always remain a valued member of this team and _nobody_ is expendable.”

Staring up through slitted eyes, Bart sneered at his leader. “Sorry, I guess finding out my girlfriend was sent into a potentially life-threatening situation with no backup and no warning is making me a little pissed.”

Oliver’s eyes skirted away with something akin to regret. “What happened was—“

“Just shut up,” he groaned, burying his face in his eyes. “Please.”

“Bart, dude, we get it…” AC offered, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “It’s Chloe! We all want her back safe!”

“Watchtower is the center of all this, we want her back safe just as much as you do,” Victor agreed.

“Want her back safe…” He laughed pathetically, a throaty chuckle with no amusement. “Funny, see ‘cause the whole reason she’s in this mess is because of this and what we’re doing…”

“What we’re doing is something she believes in,” Oliver reminded stoically.

“Yeah, well, lately I’ve been having doubts.” Bart leaned back, his expression washed out, eyes ringed red and his body slumped in exhaustion. “Love of your life goes missing ya kinda think ya wanna get away from whatever caused it.” His brows rose for emphasis, only bringing out the roughness of his face all the more.

“She’s made it through scrapes like this a million times before…”

Rubbing at his eyes, he sighed. “Right, so what’s one more near-death experience?” Shaking his head, Bart stood up from the couch. “I’m gonna go take another look around.”

Oliver sighed. “I really don’t think—“

“No.” Bart nodded, backing toward the door. “You don’t.”

With a red flash, he was gone.

***

His legs burned like they never had before. Once upon a time, he remembered thinking he would never tire, that he could run across, over and around the globe a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. But now, his chest hurt and his eyes stung and his arms felt like lead weights at his side. The blurred world around him started to take on shape, which meant he wasn’t running as fast as he had been. His feet began to trip, his body collapse and the last thing he remembered thinking was that he didn’t save her; he didn’t find her like he should have.

***

_“Okay… strawberry or chocolate?” she wondered, head stuck in the freezer as she pulled ice cream out for dessert._

_“Depends on where you put it,” Bart teased, appearing next to her. “I think chocolate is best licked off your stomach.” He fell to his knees and inched her shirt up, fingers sliding beneath to stroke her abdomen lightly._

_“Cute, but try to focus.”_

_Staring up at her from beneath cheekily raised brows, he smirked. “I think I’m focusing pretty good…” He nibbled her navel, nuzzling her with his nose as his fingers held her hips in place._

_“I think we have chocolate syrup around here somewhere… could go well with the strawberry ice cream,” she murmured thoughtfully._

_Bart snorted, rolling his eyes. “So quickly the fair maiden loses interest in her Knight...”_

_Chuckling, Chloe closed the freezer door and looked down at him, burying her hands in his hair. “Knight, huh? And what has thou done for me lately?”_

_Standing, he swept her up into his arms in one quick movement. Unsurprised, she wrapped her arms around his neck and grinned at him._

_“What would you like?” he wondered._

_“Besides dessert?” she joked._

_“Hey, I was all for dessert, I just wanted it presented in a naked-you fashion…”_

_Shaking her head, she sighed lightly. “To the bedroom, Knight.”_

_With a grin, he shot toward the room and had her laid out before she could finish her sentence._

_“As the lady commands,” he murmured, lying down next to her._

_“Chocolate—“_

_He held up a bottle of syrup knowingly, a cocky expression adorning his handsome face._

_Laughing, she leaned forward and kissed him in reward for his quick thinking._

***

(Explain.) “ _Expliquer_ ,” a foreign voice barked out.

(Young man, mid-twenties, found outside a restaurant, barely breathing, would not wake up. He is American, we think.) “ _Jeune homme, le milieu les années vingt, trouvé à l'extérieur d'un restaurant, à peine la respiration, il ne se réveillerait pas. Il est l'américain, nous pensons_.”

(Rate of the heart?) “ _Taux du cœur?_ ”

(Under control.) “ _Sous contrôle_.”

(Breathing?) “ _Respiration?_ ”

(Improvement.) “ _Amelioration_.”

“Hm,” came the gruff reply. “ _Il est éveillé?_ ” (Is he awake?)

(A bit.) “ _Un peu_.”

“Eh, uh, _L’American?_ ” the man questioned, touching his shoulder lightly.

Bart blinked woozily.

“You are in Montpellier, France, no?”

He groaned in reply.

“You ‘ave been, uh, admitted ‘ere for… _épuisement_ …” At Bart’s confused expression, he tried again. “Exhaustion, yes?”

Licking his dry lips, Bart shook his head. “I gotta go, man.” Sitting up with what little strength he had in him, he started tearing out all the wires attached to him and moving to swing his legs off the gurney.

“Eh! No, no! You do not understand!” Turning to a nearby nurse, he cursed, “ _Américain stupide!_ ” (Stupid American!)

“My girlfriend, I just gotta…” His legs wobbled as his feet hit the ground.

(Your Love will understand, no?) “ _Votre Amour comprendre, non?_ ” The doctor made wild arm gestures for emphasis. “If she is a good woman, a _trésor_ (treasure), _son coeur vous pardonnera_ …” (Her heart will excuse you.)

Shaking his head, Bart struggled with the orderlies trying to put him back in the bed.

(Rest, American. Tomorrow brings new eyes.) “ _Reste, américain. Demain apporte de nouveaux yeux_.”

He continued to try and fight but a loss of sleep had him drifting away even as he forced his eyes open against their will.

***

_“What are you doing?” she asked over a yawn as she set a mug of steaming coffee in front of him while snuggling her own near to her._

_“Apartment hunting,” he mumbled, tapping the pen in his fingers against his temple._

_Her brow quirked. “I thought Ollie agreed to pay the rent on your new place…”_

_“He did.” Sighing, he leaned back. “But it’s too far away, so…”_

_“Too far away?” She laughed. “Am I hearing you right? You can disappear and reappear in less time than it takes for me to blink!”_

_“Yeah… but_ you _can’t,” he reminded, glancing over the paper to see her._

_Her gaze narrowed. “Is this your roundabout way of asking me to move in?”_

_Lips curling, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “That depends on your answer._

_Mirroring his actions, she tipped her head thoughtfully. “It would save Ollie from paying the rent on two places… less of a paper trail…”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Turn Watchtower off for a minute and bring Chloe back,” he teased lightly._

_Smiling, she shrugged. “I might be persuaded…_ If _you stop leaving wet towels everywhere.”_

_He frowned. “I dunno… I might forget… This is a pretty big bargain you’re striking, ‘Licious.”_

_Her eyes widened comically. “Oh I know, how ever will you manage without tossing wet laundry on the furniture?”_

_“I was in a hurry,” he shrugged off._

_“As usual.” She nodded knowingly. “So no wet towels and we take my bed.”_

_“What’s wrong with mine?” he protested half-heartedly._

_“It’s lumpy… and small.”_

_“Fine, fine… But if I’m getting restrictions, you are too…”_

_“Like?”_

_He thought hard for a moment, pursing his lips. “Like leaving all that girly crap all over the sink. I dunno why you need four different hair junks but I can never find my toothbrush in that mess.”_

_Grinning, she nodded. “New filing system for hair junk, go it.” She winked to seal the deal._

_Reaching over, he caught her hand. “So we’ll find a new place then?”_

_“Mm…” She nodded her head side to side, “or maybe we can just… move my stuff into your apartment. It’s big enough and we don’t have to go through the hassle of finding an affordable place in main Metropolis.”_

_“I can have you moved in by sundown,” he cheered happily._

_She laughed. “I’ve got a couple weeks left in the month, might as well give me time to go through everything. It’ll get me more organized anyway.”_

_Bart rolled his eyes. “Girls. Gimme a box and an address and I’m done.”_

_“There’s memories here though…” She looked around warmly. “Sentimental value.”_

_He stared at her face, how it softened as she remembered moments in her life that were worth smiling over. He wanted to create those with her, in their new place. “Long as I got you, Gorgeous, I’ve got everything I need.”_

_She grinned at him. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll fit in a box.”_

_In a blink of her eyes, she went from her chair to his lap. He tucked her hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You fit right here perfectly though.”_

_Her eyes lightened and he swore right then, she was searing this moment into her mind to be brought out later and smiled over just like the rest. For a guy like him, that was downright world tilting._

***

“What did the doctor say?”

Victor’s voice.

“He ran out of energy, collapsed… With some rest, he’ll be fine.” - Oliver

“How’d you get him here without alerting the French authorities?” AC wondered from the opposite side of the room.

“His doctor was discreet enough. Worked with him a few years back. Good guy.”

Bart’s eyes were crusted over, his body felt heavy and sore with disuse. He struggled to move, to open his eyes and see the guys hovering over him. What were they doing focusing on him when Chloe was out there in danger? Rage built up inside him, burning his throat.

“Wh’re you doing?” he coughed out, his throat scratchy.

“You’re awake!”

“Wha’s it look like?” he growled. His eyes searched the room angrily. “Why aren’t you looking for her?” He forced himself to sit up, shrugging their hands off him as they tried to stop or help, he didn’t know which.

Oliver exchanged a look with the others and silently they left.

The door closed with the sort of finality that had his chest clenching.

With a sigh, Oliver stepped closer, his posture stiff. “Listen, Impulse, you’ve been out for a week.” His eyes glanced away and then back. “A lot has happened. And Chloe is… fine. She’s just… not in the right shape right now to be… visiting.”

His nose flared as fear was overshadowed by annoyance. “For a hero with an identity crisis you suck at lying.”

Oliver pursed his lips. “My doctors think it’s best for you to avoid stress for a little while. Your four day run around the world without any time to rejuvenate took a lot out of you.”

His voice held an edge of chastising and Bart didn’t appreciate it one bit. “Like you wouldn’t?” he rasped.

“I’m not saying that. I understand why—“

“Stop saying that. You don’t get it. None of you do.” He rolled his eyes cynically. “It’s always poor Bart and his sad crush on Chloe. Like you pity me or something because I was smart enough to see what was right in front of me.” He glared. “You think it’s easy? She finally stopped looking at me like I was some junior high reject and just when things were working out I find out she’s gone…” He continued on even as Oliver lifted his hand for him to pause to say his peace. “No, I get it, really. She’s just like us, she puts her neck out for the little guy, I know. But don’t tell me you understand until you’re girlfriend or your wife’s life is hanging in the balance, okay?”

Staring down, Oliver simply nodded.

Rubbing at his face roughly, Bart sat back in the bed, exhausted still. “I wanna see her.”

“The doctor said—“

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “I was just being polite. I’ll get up outta here and search the damn continent, with or without my powers, if I have to.”

Shaking his head, he finally sighed. “All right. I’ll arrange it.”

Without another word, Bart slunk back into his bed to wait.

***

“Chloe, as much as this is for his benefit, it’s for yours too. What happened with you was traumatizing enough and knowing that Bart was… affected like this doesn’t help the healing process,” Oliver explained, his hands weighing heavy on either of Chloe’s shoulders.

She stared up at him, slightly amused. “This isn’t my first run in with death, all right? And… I know you’re trying to keep us safe.” She smiled affectionately. “But I’ve been waiting three days to see him, not including the time I spent stuck…” The words lodged in her throat but she pushed a wavering smile out to hide it. “I _need_ to see him.”

“Two against one,” he muttered, releasing one of her shoulders before walking her down the hall to the locked and secured doorway. “Just... keep the stress-level low.”

She glanced up at him. “Not really in the mood for hospital sex, Ollie. I just need to know he’s okay… See him with my own eyes.” Turning toward the door, she took a deep breath and released it slowly.

***

He sat up in bed so quickly his body felt as though it ricocheted off a brick wall. His head swam for a second before he blinked away the double-vision. She stood stock-still, her hair pushed behind her ears and her smile small but genuine. Her face was bruised up; one of her eyes rimmed a dark purple and shaded yellow with healing. Her lip was split, she was favoring her left, likely from some kind of rib problem, and she was on the verge of tears.

“Hey,” he mustered.

She laughed on a sob. “Hey!” She was across the room and wrapped around him faster than he imagined even _he_ could’ve been. Her head buried in his shoulder and he hugged her close, pressing his face against her hair, inhaling her familiar scent.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice quiet, uncertain.

“Me?” He laughed brokenly. “Top of my game, Gorgeous.”

She shook her head, drawing back slightly. “Really?” Her eyes burned into his searchingly.

He kissed her forehead carefully and tightened his embrace around her, drawing her into the bed next to him. “I should be asking if _you’re_ okay…” He played with her fingers as she cuddled close, staring up at him from her head’s comfortable position braced against his arm.

“What this?” She motioned to her face. “I’ve had worse.”

He frowned. “Tell me what happened.”

She chewed her lip. “Later.”

He scowled, determined.

She smiled. “Can I enjoy this for a second?” she murmured. “One minute I’m stuck in some dungeon-esqe crap-hole and the next AC’s carrying me to a helicopter. I come home to find you’re being shipped over from France and they won’t let me see you…” She let it out in one long whoosh of breath that left her looking upset again. “I just…” She smiled to hide her pain. “I just want you to hold me, okay?”

He nodded, pulling her in close and tucking the blanket around them. He let his eyes fall to half-mass as they laid in silence. He could feel sleep creeping up once more but pushed it away. It was moments like these he’d worried he’d never have again; simple times of just having her in his arms, her body and her scent invading his senses. She sighed against the hollow of his throat, her fingers absently playing with a loose string on the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, half because his voice gave out and half because he hated to admit his failure. “I should’ve been there, should’ve found you…” His eyes blurred.

Her arm tightened around his waist. “I’m right here.”

“You could’ve…” He clenched his jaw tight.

“But I’m not.” She tipped her head back to look at him. “By next week, I’ll be moved into your apartment, right? And this…” She looked around, shaking her head. “This’ll just be another mess we got through.”

He stroked her hair from her face. “You’re the only one that makes me rethink this whole thing…”

Her brow furrowed. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t love with all of yourself… And I admire that, I do. But… This is us, Bart.” She swallowed tightly. “As much as we’re Bart and Chloe, we’re Impulse and Watchtower too… And we’re always going to be in danger and fighting this fight…”

He nodded jerkily. “I know.”

“I need you here with me to do that…” She cupped his chin purposefully. “I want you here next to me… When I fall and get back up, I want to know that I’m getting up for something… _someone_.”

He kissed her, deep and passionate; fingers buried in hair, teeth gnashing, tongues dancing, breath stuttering. “Always,” he promised, pecking her mouth lingeringly.

She grinned then, her eyes glinting with the same warm affection he’d grown used to. “So how tired is my Knight, really?”

He smirked lazily. “Depends on what the lady has in mind…”

She chuckled. “I promised Ollie no stress and no hospital sex.”

He pouted playfully and then leaned her back against the bed. “ _I_ didn’t.”

Their joyful laughter echoed throughout the room. For the time being, all was good again.


	6. Theories Proved (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was sensitive about his feet... And she had a theory (of course) as to why...

He bought the same shoes every time, red converse, and he wore them out so quickly she was surprised Oliver didn't have a whole department dedicated to just Bart. She wondered if he had stock in socks or the converse company, he'd be making a killing just off his own purchases.

Bart Allen was not as simple as some made him out to be. Yes, he was out to charm every woman he met, Chloe Sullivan more than others, and while young and rather cheesy at times, he always left an impression. She hadn't yet given in to his insistent flirting, and she said yet because it was becoming more and more clear that maybe she might just share a mutual attraction with the speedster. He was a little older now and even had the ability to make her blush, something few had accomplished in her life.

They were spending more time together lately. He made it his mission to come back and see her whenever he could. After a long day of searching the globe for 33.1 or any other world-threatening issues, he'd pop by see his favorite blonde and flirt away the night with her. Since her break up with Jimmy, it was nice to have the attention. Nobody else had caught her eye and it seemed like work was her new companion. But Bart was always around to take her mind off those things, to just be with her. Sometimes he wanted to talk, other times he wanted to use her couch as his own little napping station. She had a few drawers in her dresser filled with his things because of how often he stopped in and stayed the night. That should have been a hint but she didn't take it.

Right now, she had an urge. Very rarely was Bart seen without his patented red shoes. But currently he was sitting on her couch, having just finished three sandwiches and watching TV, his legs sprawled out on the couch, bare feet crossed at the ankle. She stared at them, eyes thinned, a theory forming. After all that running, all the pressure that must be put on his feet, the wear and tear of shoes over the years he's had his interesting ability, his feet must be killing him. Finally, she gave in. While he was distracted, she turned in her seat, carefully lifted his ankles until his feet were in her lap and watched his reaction.

His brow furrowed, eyes glancing at her for a fraction of a second before his lips quirked in a smile and he returned to watching the sitcom playing.

She made a plan, not one that took a whole lot of elaborate scheming like her job as Watchtower, so it wasn't a stretch by a longshot. She'd given massages before, she was well known for having heavenly hands when the boys got back from a mission. Well, that sounded a little less proper than she thought it did. But sometimes AC's arms cramped up after a long swim or Oliver stretched himself thin with all of his gallivanting on grapple hooks and such, so she'd rub them down. They were her boys; she was only looking out for them. And Bart was always happy to sit down and offer his shoulders to her for a rub, so this wasn't that unusual.

He had never, however, let her touch his feet. Then again, it wasn't like she was asking. Feet weren't really her thing, especially when Bart's been running for hours on end, all over the Earth, no doubt they stunk. But he was freshly showered, stopping by for a snack with his favorite Chloelicious and now the urge that had been furthered by her curious theory was even stronger. So she made sure he was entirely involved in the show and she wrapped her hands around one foot, her thumbs pressing deep against the center of the sole of his foot. His knee jerked, eyes widening, breath catching and back arching right off the couch.

"Wh-whoa, what are you doing?" he asked, gulping. His smile wavered as if he was almost hesitant.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she asked, brows furrowed as she ran her thumbs up the middle and then spread them apart.

He wiggled, biting his lip and staring at her.

She watched him, fingers kneading and rubbing, her palms pressing against the sides and heel of his foot. He writhed as if her touch was bringing out feelings far more intimate. His hips rocked against an invisible partner and her eyes fell, staring at the bulge that strained his jeans with each tender stroke of her fingers. It amazed her how something so little got him so enticed. She moved on to his other foot, fascinated by his reaction. She let her nails graze down the sensitive underside and heard him growl, his cheeks flushing. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the brown strands.

"S-Stop," he told her, so breathy.

She refused. It made sense now, her theory proved. With all of his speed and agility, his feet were like a weakness, sensitive to the smallest of touches. Through intent searching, she found the places on his feet that got him the most worked up and rubbed them deep and hard. She could see his body tensing, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin. She suddenly wished they were on her bed, his shirt tossed away, his jeans gone. She wanted to touch him and taste him and bring him to the same heights with her mouth on his body, everywhere she could reach. She wanted to be laid out beneath him, those jerking hips meeting hers, the obviously large erection he sported buried inside of her. She could already imagine he'd be an attentive lover; his mouth and hands everywhere at once. She felt herself getting warm between her thighs just from her imagination.

One of his hands spread across his stomach, bunching his shirt up in his fingers. "Please. P-Please," he begged, rocking his hips quicker.

She swore she could hear his heart beating, so quick it was ready to burst from his chest. Death by orgasm by foot rub... what a way to go.

She ran the nails on each of her hands up both of his feet slowly and he broke, his head falling back, straining, his hips lifting into the air, his knees bent, feet twitching. He groaned breathily into the air, her name a gentle whisper escaping him as he came down, his eyes closed, his breathing still harsh, his hand slowly loosening from his shirt which was drawn up, revealing part of his stomach.

She licked her lips. "I think I just learned your weakness, Impulse."

He chuckled lowly, lifting a brow and opening one eye a crack. " _You_ were always my weakness, ‘licious."

She shivered.

He sat up suddenly, hand cupping her face. "Now that you found all my sweet spots... Why don't I find yours?" He winked.

She smirked. "You'll have to be thorough... Could take hours."

He grinned. "I'm up to the challenge."

Her eyes fell and the bulge that should be gone with his intense orgasm was back at full mass. Apparently there were a few other upsides to his ability.


	7. I'll Go Slow [Explicit]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did she get here? With him? Doing this?

She couldn’t quite form an answer to the question that was whirling in the back of her mind.

How did she get here? With him? Doing _this?_

There was a mission, one where by the end she was out of breath and her body was thrumming. She’d always loved the excitement of snooping, of uncovering the truth and bringing it to light. But the part she played lately was one of discretion, hidden in the watchtower with a phone set and camera footage to show her what was going on. But tonight had been different; tonight, she was right there in the middle of it. Despite taking part in the usual ribbing of the boys and their leather outfits, she had one of her own and damn if she didn’t feel off-the-charts in it.

The mission had gone well, at least as well as could be expected. There were snags, as usual, and perhaps she’d nearly lost her life, twice, and maybe a certain speedster had been there to keep her head from being lobbed off or a bullet from finding a new home in her chest cavity. But in the end, mission accomplished, score one for the good guys.

There was a gap in her memory, however. This was obvious by the fact that the last thing she remembered was grinning proudly at the League boys before they left for home. And now, here she was, lifted up on top of her kitchen counter with her top tossed elsewhere, her bra skewed and the majority of her upper half being stroked and kissed with a ferocity that rivaled all else.

She could feel his fingertips on her spine, dancing as though he were playing music, while at the same time she could feel his hands cupping her breasts, massaging them, thumbs rubbing her nipples in time with his tongue twisted along her own. His mouth was against hers, wasn’t it? Or was it smoothing over her ribs, tickling and enticing? She could feel his lips against her throat, the pulse in her wrists, while simultaneously kissing her breathless...

Naturally, some part of her demanded answers, but the part being thoroughly explored wasn’t so cooperative. So while both gasping for air and leaning into his touch, his mouth, she tried to piece together what the hell happened…

_“You need a ride home, Beautiful?”_

_She grinned. “I have this snazzy thing called a car… Gets me from point A to point B pretty accurately…”_

_“Yeah but is it as attractive to the eye?” He motioned to himself with a cheesy grin._

_Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes._

_He sidled up quicker than the eye, producing a wild flower out of nowhere. A laugh stuttered to a stop as he stroked her cheek with the soft petals, taking care to run it along her lips as well before tucking it behind her ear. “I can promise the ride of a lifetime…”_

_Without much thought, her arms were around his neck and off she was, in a blur of color, the air rushing past her, rustling her hair and sending intense shivers along her skin. It was like floating and flying and somewhere in between at the same time. She felt a bubble of laughter fill her throat and when she turned to share it with him, he was grinning proudly._

_Her home came to focus around her and just as quickly, he’d slid from her and into the kitchen, searching the fridge for sustenance._

_“Second to food…” she joked. “Should I be offended?”_

_He quirked a brow. “You’re never second… But I’ll need a reboot for later.” He downed two cans of pop before her mind caught on._

_Crossing her arms, she tilted her hip to one side. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”_

_Tossing the cans behind them, he replied, “They don’t call me Impulse for nothing,” just as they landed perfectly inside her garbage can. And with that, he was in front of her, arms looping around her waist, the pressure of his hands on her lower back drawing her nearer. Their noses bumped and she found, up close like this, he was worth that small stutter in air as she meant to breathe in and instead was caught unawares, off guard, and entranced._

_“You ready for this, ‘Licious?” he asked, nuzzling her nose with his._

_Coherency wasn’t a possibility right then._

_He laughed lowly. “Don’t worry… I’ll go slow…”_

_She didn’t think he knew the meaning of the word._

She was right.

She could blame it on the adrenaline; lust was second nature when one was still hopping from the latest crime bust. And while he might not be the tallest, most muscular or even the mature one of the team, he was a constant in her life. Bart Allen, speed junkie, a man who would willingly save the world and woo her at the same time. He hadn’t had any luck in the years she’d known him and yet now here she was, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, heels dug in as if afraid for the first time ever that he might disappear and not come back.

He stopped, suddenly. She felt the various touch of his fingers stop all at the same time. Her back was bare, her neck untouched, her lips left parted and panting, alone where previously they’d been occupied by his own. He stared at her, waiting for her to focus even as he looked dazed and unsteady. Before she could question what was going on, he’d spun her off the counter and sped into the bedroom, dropping her onto the bed and covering her with himself just as quick.

From there things were a blur of ecstasy.

Over the years, she’d heard him promise many a time that a night with him would blow her mind and have her wanting more and she’d laughed it off, always, but now she was wishing she’d taken heed earlier. Her clothes were stripped before she could sigh a breath of relief. His own were tossed haphazardly, leaving him cloaked in the darkness of the room, the streetlight entering the window highlighting various enticing features. She hadn’t noticed before how toned he was; how his upper body tapered down to hips fit for her legs to wrap tight around. He had a tattoo on his left pec, Spanish that she couldn’t focus long enough to translate. His collar bone made her fingers tingle; never in her life had she ever found that specific area all that erogenous but in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and trace it with her fingertips.

With one hand, he held the both of hers high above her head. She stretched automatically, her bare body lifting like an offering to his mouth, his free hand, whatever would have her. She could still feel the effect he’d had on her in the kitchen. Her thighs shook with want, her toes curled in her comforter, her breasts ached for him to kiss them. She registered that later she might feel embarrassed for such outwardly wonton behavior. Never had she and Bart crossed the line of friendship, even if he’d often encouraged her to want the same as him. And now she was nearly begging for it, all of it.

He watched, his eyes hooded, his lips parted as she writhed beneath him. Finally, as if his patience had run out, he was suckling her breast like it held the answers to life’s questions. One minute he was watching, taking her in, the next he was where she needed him to be. His teeth scraped and tugged at her nipple, making her cry out, her hips buck, and her legs part for him. The length of him pressed against her, his head ducked to her breast, his arm stretched out to hold her hands down. His leg slid up between hers, his knee pressing against her wet, wanting slit. She rocked herself against him with abandon.

He switched breasts, drew his knee away before she could come and then returned it when he knew she’d need to build up momentum once more. She both hated and loved him for it. His hand slid around her neck, thumb stroking her pounding pulse before his palm explored her side, fingers tickling her ribs, gripping her hip to keep her from lifting off the bed.

Arms restless, her hands no longer needed his to keep her from moving. She was too involved in what he was doing to do more than wiggle and need. Suddenly his hands were everywhere once more; the arch of her feet, around her ankles, massaging her calves, wrapped beneath her thighs, lifting and parting them, wrapping her around him. His palms splayed against her waist, cupped her breasts, kneaded the back of her shoulders and just as she felt shudders permeating her entirety, his fingers threaded with her own and he thrust deep inside her.

She arched, crying out, coming hard without an ounce of discretion. Her head fell back, her neck stretching beyond comfort and her throat growing hoarse. It was only the beginning. He found the spot on her neck that made her breasts tighten as much as any fingers might. He suckled and nipped at her as she clawed her hands down his back while he thrust slowly, rubbing against her g-spot at just the right angle. She was seeing stars while still quivering from the last orgasm. She hadn’t caught her breath before she lost it again, every muscle of her body tightening in response to the release that escaped with little warning.

“Oh God, oh God…” she whimpered, blinking wildly to find focus.

He drew out of her as she jerked in wild ecstasy, holding tight to his shoulders and tilting her hips, wanting more even as her mind protested.

“Shh…” he murmured soothingly against her ear, stroking her hair from her damp face.

He rolled her on her side without problem, his hand spread across her stomach sliding low to lift her knee and separate her legs once more. He curled around her, slid in from behind and nibbled her ear as he sunk in to the hilt, rocking the air out of her lungs once more. Her hand gripped the blanket, nearly tearing it in her urgency. He hooked his arm beneath her thigh, lifting it as he thrust in and out, holding back while still managing to bring her so close and yet so far. She couldn’t form thought or word, couldn’t do any more than let him fulfill every inch of desire she had inside her.

He kissed her shoulder while simultaneously taking her own hand and wrapping it around her breast, their fingers locking in together and massaging her mound as he slid his other hand low on her thigh to draw circles around her clit. She shook her head side to side as another orgasm approached; too much, too little, more, more more…

“Ugh!” she screamed as her eyes darkened and lit, in and out, nothing but the hammering pulse of her heart in her ears and sounding through every limb.

“No more, I can’t…”

“Just… let me make you feel… what _I_ feel…”

“I… I…”

He was moving in her once more and the sensations were at an all time high. He lifted her until she was kneeling on the bed, her back pressed to his chest, her head sprawled on his shoulder, no strength left to hold it up. She could hear his panting breaths, feel them against her cheek. Her thighs burned, her knees felt heavy as she tried for balance. He knelt behind her, the hard expanse of his chest bowing against her back just right. His hands cupped her above her knees, lifting slowly, stroking the insides of her wet thighs. Long fingers spread her heat, his thumb flicking against her clit in tandem with his length burying inside her. Just as she felt herself building, his hands drew away, sliding up her hips, squeezing before they splayed across her stomach and up her to her ribs, massaging the undersides of her breasts, cupping them fully as she bent toward them, wanting. He tweaked her nipples, kissing her shoulder as he sped up his hips, his thick hardness penetrating and imprinting deeply.

She felt sweat trickle down her spine, her sides, beading on her neck before he licked it away with a flick of his tongue. Her arms lifted, wrapped back behind him, hand buried in his hair. She closed her eyes and let go; fell victim to the tremors, the harsh lack of air making it into her lungs, and simply let herself feel for the first time ever. With Jimmy, she was the one who had to be in charge, had to direct him and show him, needing and wanting but never fully fulfilled. Now, however, she was getting more than ever.

Endurance was one thing, excellence another, but he was hitting it out of the ball park… Hell, out of the city entirely.

The pump of his hips hit extraordinary heights. From the angle he knelt in, he was delving so far inside her, she swore she’d never known such pleasure. While one hand held her breast, keeping her balanced as her body loss control, the other fell to cup her between her thighs, fingers kneading against her just right. Her hips tilted, her bottom lifting against him, as she gyrated needily.

“Feel,” he growled against her cheek.

She bit her lip, swallowing tightly.

She quivered, her thighs shook, her stomach tightened and her heart flew high and then plummeted just as he came inside her, taking her along for the ride. Her mouth fell apart in a soundless gasp, her breasts lifting high in the air as her back arched forward. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up as her hands fell from his hair, arms hanging limply at her sides. She clenched and tightened spastically, gripping him inside, unwilling to let go.

While a part of her enjoyed the high, another was glad this was the last of it. She wasn’t sure she could take much more.

He turned her in his arms, laid her back on the bed gently and then sprawled next to her, panting heavily. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes closed and his chest heaving and damp.

She didn’t know what to say. After years of rejecting his advances, of telling both him and herself that it was just a game, just a flirtatious thing between friends, it had all come to an incredible overflow of reality. She opened her mouth to say something; what, she didn’t know, but it couldn’t go on like this, unsaid and uncertain. But before words could leave her lips, he was no longer next to her, instead he was between her thighs, his arms hooked overtop either of her legs and his chin resting on her stomach. She blinked, forcing her head to catch up and then stared at him, a brow lifted.

“You didn’t think that was it, did you?” he asked, smirking.

“Given your performance, A+ work by the way, I’d have to say now should be about the time you knock back a few sandwiches and get some sleep…” While she’d only ever had Jimmy in her bed, he’d been the type that showered shortly after and then crashed for a few hours. Bart, however, didn’t look like he needed any down time at all. In fact, by the kisses he was pressing all along her stomach, she was sure he was raring to go, again… and again and again.

“N-Not that I’m really protesting, but uh…” she trailed off as his mouth slid slower, tongue stroking along her slit with slow persistence. All the while his fingers were feather-light, petting a calming beat along her hips.

“You were saying?” he murmured before suckling her folds once more.

“I- I- A-Oh…” She muttered unintelligibly, nothing even _she_ could understand.

His smirk could be felt against her thighs.

Nothing would be said, she knew that now. And maybe that was for the best because as long as she hadn’t been unready for this, she wasn’t sure where she was now. So she chalked this up to a night of lust, of adrenaline run rampant, and hoped she could convince all involved by tomorrow morning.

His tongue delved deep inside her and she bucked, crying out.

Make that tomorrow afternoon.


End file.
